It's Late, It's Late, It's Very Very Late
by sigma-epsilon
Summary: Kate finally has her priorities straight. She's ready, and Castle will be there. Right? An alternate take on 4x23. EDITED
1. Chapter 1

Castle's almost managed to tamp down on the nausea turning his insides out by the time he reaches the trailing edge of the thunderstorm. The constant thrum of smooth tires on uneven pavement usually serves to calm his mind and realign his thoughts, but tonight it only clutters them further. Cool air whooshes from the vents and wafts across his face and neck, but he barely feels it.

He tries desperately to recall images of a beaming Alexis, making her valedictorian speech. There must be some positive emotion associated with that, right? Pride? Happiness?

Oh, who is he kidding? Castle's astounded that he managed to hold himself together through Alexis's graduation ceremony. It took constant effort to keep his smile up and his breathing even through her speech. Watching her walk away with her friends, graduation gown billowing behind her…

There's nothing positive. Nothing happy. All he feels now is grief. Clawing, heart-rending grief that makes him want nothing more than to curl into a ball and keen.

God. He needs to get it together before he drives his car into a ditch.

Swallowing hard, Castle grips the steering wheel hard enough to pop his knuckles as he scans the shimmering road signs for an exit ramp with a hotel.

Anywhere will do. All he needs is a bed and a door that locks, and he's set for the next thirty-six hours.

At least he had the good sense to leave his phone at home. The last the he needs is to be tempted to call –

Someone.

Castle growls and steps on the gas pedal a little harder.

He doesn't care anymore. She's made her priorities very clear. It doesn't matter that he waited outside her door an hour after storming out, hoping that she'd follow him. Tell him she was wrong.

What an idiot he was. She didn't follow him a year ago, why would she do it now?

_Do you always have to be first?_

Apparently so.

He hopes she's satisfied. He really does. If nothing else, as least she no longer has to bear the burden of choosing between him and her mother's case anymore.

He's happy to have simplified her decision.

What does it matter to him where she might be now? What might be happening to her? What might have already happened?

She can take care of herself. She said so. Kate Beckett's welfare is no longer his concern.

It doesn't matter to him. It_ doesn't_.

Castle doesn't notice the tears streaming down his cheeks until he feels one tickle his chin. Sighing though his teeth, he roughly wipes at his face and blinks to clear his vision. Looking at the radio clock, he's surprised to see the time read 10:46.

He's been driving for two and a half hours.

Ahead, there's a sign showing a Holiday Inn 0.6 miles off the next exit.

Good enough for him. Castle jerks the wheel, merging into the slow lane.

Kate Beckett has made her decision, and he's going to respect it, even if it kills her –

_Him_. Even if it kills… him.

_Damn it._

* * *

His phone goes directly to voicemail for the fifth time, and Kate tries desperately to quell the hurt.

Really, she should have expected this. Why would he answer a call from her after the things she said last night? If their positions were reversed, she would have already changed her number.

He deserves better than her. She knows this. It's why she went to therapy in the first place. Why she lied to him. So she could improve herself. Rebuild her foundation and make it solid.

All that work, all that effort, and she still chose to dig the hole deeper instead of grabbing the ladder Castle threw down to her. God, he had begged her to let the case go. He showed his hand, laid it all out before her, and let her do with it what she will.

She threw it back in his face.

No wonder he walked away.

The raindrops dripping down her face from her hair camouflage the tears that suddenly overflow.

What is she doing?

Wouldn't it be better for him if she just left him alone? Richard Castle has taken more than enough abuse from her.

Fun and uncomplicated.

Maybe that really is what he needs. Someone whole. Someone happy. Someone who would treat him the way he deserves to be treated. A brave woman, capable of accepting his love and giving all of herself to him, instead of a coward who takes and takes and _takes_ and never gives –

No. No self-pity. She hasn't even given him the chance to decide. It's the very least she can do.

Decision firmly made, Kate increases her clip to a jog, and before she knows it, she's trailing water and mud across his building's lobby, making a puddle in the elevator, and shivering in front of his door.

Water trickles down her arm as she lifts her hand and raps three times.

Ten seconds later, there's no answer. She knocks again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Five minutes later, and she's not sure if she's shaking because she's cold or because of the sobs that she's barely keeping down. Her teeth dig into her lip, and she runs a hand through her soggy hair, gripping it at the roots and reminding herself why she shouldn't tear it out.

Taking a few deep breaths, she calms down slightly. He could just be out with his mother and daughter, celebrating Alexis's graduation.

Alexis's graduation. A crippling wave of guilt surges through her, and all her injuries throb simultaneously with it.

Reaching for her phone, she thumbs Castle's contact info, hoping against hope that maybe he'll answer this time –

His phone rings inside the loft, and the hastily glued-together pieces of her composure shatter irreparably. She falls against the door and sinks to the ground, covering her face to muffle the pathetic noises that she can no longer keep inside.

_I'm too late._

_I'm too late._


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Thank you guys for reading and reviewing! I'd say you readers deserve a quick update.**

The room's A/C unit clicks and rattles on, startling Castle out of his slumber. Blinking blearily, he absently rubs a hand across his mouth, encountering a string of drool connecting his lips to the comforter. A thin strip of sunlight shines through the gap in the curtains. He sits up and rotates some stiffness out of his neck, eyeing the clock on the table.

9:23 AM.

Inhaling deeply, Castle runs a hand through his sleep-mussed hair, grimacing at how greasy it feels. The bed creaks as he rolls to one side and stands. Both his bladder and his stomach choose now to make themselves known, so he pads to the bathroom, rough carpet scratching at his feet.

The bathroom is lit by a stark fluorescent bulb, and it contrasts the dark, bruised bags under his eyes with the ghostly pallor of his cheeks. Every wrinkle in his face looks like a line carved by sadness instead of earned through joy. Castle cuts his gaze away from the mirror, unable to accept just how miserable he really looks.

He'd like a little more time to live in denial before confronting the truth.

Flushing the toilet, he decides to skip a shower in favor of heading down to the breakfast buffet. It takes him a few moments to find where he kicked off his shoes and tossed his suit jacket away. For once, he doesn't particularly care about how he looks.

If his rumpled visage causes people to steer clear, that's completely fine with him. Socializing with strangers isn't something he's up for today.

Castle grabs the keycard from the table and slips out the door.

As he makes his way to the elevators, his weary mind recalls the events from the night before. How he nearly sideswiped an SUV pulling into the hotel's parking lot. The concerned looks he received from the employees behind the check-in desk as he mumbled his room request.

It had taken him five tries to get his door unlocked. By the time he got to the bed, he could no longer hold back the tears. The writer had simply thrown himself on the mattress and sobbed so hard that his body crumpled with the effort.

He must have cried himself to sleep.

This morning, he feels nothing but the bone-deep exhaustion that comes with a large emotional release. The halls are thankfully empty, allowing him to shuffle along at a zombie-like pace.

_Zombies._ Even that reminds him of Kate. She's _tainted_ every aspect of his life. Every thought he has automatically links to a memory he's made with her. His interests, his writing, his friends, his family; everything he cares about is interwoven with _her, her, her. _

And the worst part of it is that he can't even bring himself to resist it anymore. The effort's been made before, and all that had come of it was a yearning so strong that he'd jumped at the first scrap of hope she'd given him.

"_And, um, and that wall that I was telling you about? I think it's coming down"._

"_Well I'd like to be there when it does."_

"_Yeah, I'd like you to be there too". _

Like a puppy, begging shamelessly for affection. And he can't even say that he wouldn't do it again if the opportunity arose.

He doesn't know dignity anymore. He gave it up a long time ago in order to win Kate's favor.

What a weak, sorry excuse of a man he is. Completely and totally over the moon for a woman who will _never _choose him first.

The bright morning sunlight streaming through the windows in the breakfast area makes him squint. He thinks he would have preferred a sky clogged with gray, waterlogged clouds.

There's no line at the buffet, and for that he's thankful. Grabbing a bagel and some orange juice, he finds an empty table in the corner and plops down, intent on forcing his breakfast down in silence.

"Rick?"

_Oh, no. Oh, please no. Not now. Not today._

Castle lifts his head, and his stomach sinks to his feet.

"Jim?"

* * *

"_Castle!" _

_Her desperate cry goes unanswered as she sprints up the flight of stairs to the roof. The only sounds she hears are the clang of her boots on the metal steps and her labored breathing. The scar on her side is tight and painful, but it barely registers. _

_She needs to get to the roof _now.

_When she finally reaches the access door, she finds it ajar. _

_Castle had been in the other room when Maddox ambushed her and Esposito. By the time she had regained her bearings, her partner had already chased the trained killer up the stairs to the roof. _

_The reassuring weight of the service weapon in her palm is her only anchor as she bursts through the door and onto the gravel. Howling gusts whip Kate's hair as she looks around wildly, searching for a sign of either man. Finding none, she jogs to the other side. Faint sounds of a scuffle traveled on the wind, and Kate increases her speed. _

_She arrives just in time to see Castle thrown over the side of the roof. _

"_No!" Instinctively, she raises her pistol and fires off several rounds, but the assassin vanishes into thin air. Kate stumbles to the roof's edge, where she sees a single hand hanging on. "Castle! Castle!" she shouts desperately, leaning forward to grasp his forearm. He looks up at her, face contorted in anger, eyes filled with hatred. "Castle, hang on!"_

"_Why are you here?" he growls, teeth clenched. "Let me go, I can handle this myself." His releases the ledge, and Kate has to release one hand in order to anchor herself to the concrete lip so she doesn't follow him over. _

"_No! Hang on to me, Castle. Come on!" As her hand tightens around his arm, his other hand comes to claw at her fingers, prying them away. "Stop! Please, Rick! You have to help me here!" The pain in her shoulder is intense, and she knows she can't hold on much longer. "Please don't give up! I need you!"_

_All of a sudden, his face relaxes into a blank mask, and he whispers one word. _

"_Liar." _

_His fingers rip hers away, and he falls. As the weight of him releases, she is thrown back onto the roof._

_Somewhere in the back of her mind, she wonders if the wind is loud enough to drown out her screams. _

"Kate?"

"Castle!" She comes to in a daze, and it takes a moment for her to orient herself. She's awkwardly folded against Castle's loft door, knees curled up to her chest. Looking up, she tries to focus on the person who addressed her. The first thing she sees is short, red hair. "Martha?" Her voice is rough with sleep and cracked with use.

It should be. She spent the better part of the night whimpering, curled up on the floor like a child.

Castle's mother crouches next to her, gently touching her face. "What in the world happened to you? Are you alright?"

"I'm – I'm alright." Her trembling voice and pitiful appearance suggest otherwise, but she can't bear to see concern on this woman's face. Not after what she's put her son through.

Kate's planning to fast-walk to the elevator before Martha can detain her. As she gets up, however, the stiff denim of her jeans combined with her sore, cramped muscles causes her legs to give way, and she collapses in a heap. A high-pitched whine escapes her lips, and Kate is nearly breathless with embarrassment and shame.

"Oh, honey." A sob leaks out when Martha moves to help her, and she bites her lip as the matriarch slips an arm around her waist. Kate's jacket crackles with dried rainwater as Martha gives her a light squeeze. "Let's get you warm and clean, shall we?" Unable to speak, Kate only nods, chin at her chest.

The older woman unlocks the door, and suddenly Kate remembers why she spent all night on Castle's doorstep. She works up her courage as Martha guides her to the stairs. "Wait, Martha." They stop on the stairs. "I don't think Castle wants to – to see me right now." Her voice is reedy and thin, absent of its usual confidence. Martha's eyebrows furrow.

"Richard's here? Last night, he said he was headed to the Hamptons for the weekend. Did he change his mind?"

What? "He's in the Hamptons?"

"That's what he told me. Why wouldn't he want to see you?"

Kate's mind is still stuck in the present. "But he left his cell phone here."

Martha turns to scan the tables in the kitchen and living room. Sure enough, the phone is resting on the kitchen table. "Well, that's odd. He never goes anywhere without that thing."

Kate turns to follow her gaze, the familiar draw of an unsolved mystery enticing her, but a sharp pain slices across her shoulders, snapping her out of detective mode abruptly. Martha's focus returns to her. "We can figure out that later. Right now, we need to tend to you."

A weighty exhaustion presses down on the former detective, and she sways slightly. She feels Martha tighten her grip. "To the bathroom," the matriarch announces with flare, and Kate offers no resistance as she's guided up the stairs.

_At least she hasn't pressed me for information._

"So, detective, what exactly happened last night?"

_Crap._


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: You guys are too kind, really. Thank you so much for the reviews. Now, on to chapter three!**

As the older man makes his way over to the table, Castle finds he is unable to tear his eyes away from the orange juice carton by his left hand. He really should be pasting on a welcoming smile for Jim, standing and shaking the elder Beckett's hand firmly so as to ward off any probing questions. This mask of pleasantries used to be second nature to him; it came in handy when a book signing ran a little too long, or during meetings at his publishers. The mask helped keep the peace, keep tempers cool, keep spirits up. No matter how the writer himself was really feeling, he had always been able to project an aura of positive energy.

Castle wonders if that mask has been shattered permanently.

With the amount of power Kate has over his emotions – not that he's ever done much to resist – he would not be surprised if it was.

He is still staring at the orange juice when Jim thumps down across from him, their feet knocking together for a moment. "Are you alright, Rick? You look a little…" Castle finally forces his gaze up and finds a pair of concerned eyes looking him over.

Castle doesn't blame him. He must look a sight this morning.

"Mussed?" Jim finishes, mouth tightening like the word tasted bad when it passed his lips. Castle feels a slight smile tug at his mouth.

At least one Beckett is concerned about hurting his feelings.

He digs around inside himself to find an adequate reassurance. "Just didn't get a great night's sleep. I never do in hotels, really." Castle's voice is a bit scratchy, but blessedly steady. Jim nods like he understands, and a slightly uncomfortable silence stretches between them.

Cups clink and the coffee machine on the buffet table gurgles to life. The drone of the television hung on the far wall mixes with the quiet hum of conversation between patrons. Normally, the white noise is relaxing, but right now it grates on Castle's ears like nails on a chalkboard.

Thankfully, Jim seems to sense his hesitation.

"I'm meeting an old AA buddy. We're spending the weekend at his cabin on Lake George," the older man explains, gesturing vaguely behind him.

Ah. Upstate New York. Castle hadn't actually kept track where he was headed last night, but he supposes it's better than ending up in a different state. "Fishing?"

The writer hopes he sounds interested.

"And hiking, if our aged bodies feel up to it."

That makes Castle's lips quirk, despite the ache compressing his chest. "Sounds like fun. I've never really been the outdoorsy type, though."

The older man simply nods, however. "Originally, I felt the same way. Before I married Johanna, I was completely content to sit inside with a beer and basic cable."

At the mention of Kate's mother, Castle's gut clenches. He fights to keep his face from expressing the turmoil.

He will _not_ bring up the last two days. It's not his place to speak about the murder investigation anymore. If there is any news, Kate should be the one to deliver it. Not him.

He doesn't have any real news to give, anyway. She sent him packing before anything came to a head.

_You ran away_, a tiny voice whispers.

Castle ignores it.

Realizing that he's been silent for a little too long, Castle forces himself into the present. "What changed?" he inquires. Jim, whose eyebrows had begun to furrow in confusion, lights up.

"She dragged me along on nature hikes, boat rides, camping trips, and the like. Took me years to appreciate her efforts, but I eventually began enjoying it. Even convinced me to buy and renovate an old cabin when Katie was in grade school so we could spend summers in the mountains."

Castle sees it coming, but it's a punch to the stomach nonetheless. This time, Jim notices. "Are you sure you're alright, Rick?"

If the elder Beckett is half as perceptive as his daughter, he'll soon put the pieces together. Castle needs to think of a plausible excuse as to why he looks like a heartbroken vagrant.

"Truth be told, I am a bit down in the dumps. My daughter, Alexis, graduated high school yesterday." At this, understanding dawns in Jim's eyes, and he offers a sympathetic smile.

"Ah, yes. Katie's told me about her on occasion. I know how rough that can be," the older man says, taking a sip of his coffee.

Castle feels a little guilty for skirting the truth and stupidly proud that Kate talks to her dad about his daughter, but plows on before either can affect his speech. "Yeah. She went off to a post-graduation weekend celebration with her friends, and I didn't want to mope around an empty loft, so I got in my car and drove. Didn't really pay attention to where I was headed, so I just flowed with the traffic, thought until I was exhausted, and I ended up here," he concludes with a shrug.

Jim hums and nods. "After Katie's graduation, Jo and I wanted to spend part of the summer road tripping across the country. California was the destination anyway, right? Why not make a family vacation out of it?" He chuckles to himself, and Castle can already see where this is going. "We got about as far as Cleveland before mutually deciding that spending eight hours a day in a car together wasn't going to work, so we wound up turning around and spending the remainder of the summer at the cabin." He shrugs, smiling. "It was one of the best times of my life."

The story actually makes Castle feel a little better, which is surprising until he thinks about it. It offers him a glimpse of a more joyful time in Kate's life. Where her family was whole and her future was bright.

He realizes that no matter how hurt he is, no matter how terribly his own heart is shredded, Kate's happiness _still_ matters to him.

It's so _frustrating._

"Oh, there's Al." Jim's voice snaps him out of it. The older man is looking across the room, signaling with one hand.

"Who?" Castle inquires, before remembering why Jim is here in the first place. "Ah, right. You need to go?"

"Yeah, I'd better. For someone who loves fishing so much, he's not a very patient man."

Castle and Jim stand. "It was good seeing you again." The writer offers his hand, and Jim shakes it.

"You too, Rick. Tell Katie I said hello when you see her next?"

The pain, dulled slightly by Jim's empathetic companionship, returns with a vengeance, like a knife twisting in his sternum. "Uh… yeah, yeah. Will do," he manages to stutter out, swallowing thickly. Jim waves over his shoulder and walks away, and Castle slumps back into the chair, eyes closed, trying to breathe the ache away.

Somehow, he doubts if he'll ever see Jim Beckett again. Once he hears how Castle left – _abandoned , _a traitorous voice sneers, and Castle doesn't bother ignoring it this time – Kate, it's almost a certainty that he'll be shunned by the entire Beckett clan.

Not that it matters to him anymore.

_Ha. Right. _

The clock on the wall signifies that breakfast is about to end, so Castle swipes his uneaten food off the table and dumps it in the trash can. Now that he's not completely incoherent with misery, he remembers that his mother is probably at the loft now, finding his phone on the kitchen table and wondering why he left it there. He owes her a call.

To work the stiffness out of his legs, Castle takes the stairs back up to his room. He tosses his keycard on the bed and plops down next to it, tugging the table phone closer to him. Hugging the receiver between his shoulder and ear, Castle dials his home number, wondering whether or not he wants anyone to pick up.

After a few rings, the other line answers. Castle is in the midst of spinning his fib, but the voice on the other end wipes his mind clean of any intelligible thought.

"Hello?"

"K-Kate?"

_Kate._


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Ain't I a stinker? Just to frustrate you a little more, here's a chapter with Martha and Kate.**

Kate is surprised that she's only stumbled twice between the stairs and Martha's bathroom. The night spent curled awkwardly against Castle's door did nothing to relieve the aches from the beating her body took yesterday.

As Martha sits her down gently on the edge of the massive Jacuzzi tub, Kate attempts to analyze and sort her injuries, but quickly finds that she cannot distinguish where one stops and another starts. Realizing the futility of the exercise, the former detective slumps forward and slips off her heels before burying her face in her hands, wincing as the heel of her palm rubs a tender spot on her jaw.

She can hear Martha shuffling around, opening drawers and mumbling under her breath as she collects various items. A moment later, Kate's hands are gently pulled away from her face, and gentle, probing eyes meet her own. "You still haven't answered my question, dear," Martha comments, grabbing a sanitary wipe and rubbing it across Kate's knuckles, fingertips, and palms.

"It's a long story, Martha." That's a time-honored copout, but Kate's not ready to unload on an innocent bystander.

The older woman shrugs as she tosses the used wipe in a nearby wastebasket and pulls out another one, gently swiping the dirt out of the cuts and scrapes on Kate's face. "It seems we both have a little time to kill."

"I'm sorry. I think it would be better if I told your son first." Kate mumbles, hoping it does the trick.

He deserves the whole story, directly from her. It's the very least she can give him.

If he ever speaks to her again, that is.

Martha sighs. "All right. Will you at least tell me why you chose to sleep in our hallway?"

Straight to the most embarrassing question possible. Kate wonders if Castle's mother will ever respect her again after this.

Hell, she's already lost the respect of the man and his daughter. Why not make it a hat trick?

"I came to talk to Castle last night," she grits out, grimacing as the antibacterial salve sizzles her skin. Kate had planned to do a lot more than talk, depending on what his answer might have been, but Castle's mother doesn't really need to know the dirty details. "He wasn't here, so I…" _Collapsed in a broken heap and sobbed until I was nauseous_. "… waited, and I ended up falling asleep, I guess."

The explanation is lame and vague, but Martha moves on. "Why didn't you go home? Surely, you're bed would've been more comfortable."

"I, um, walked here," she mumbles. "I didn't have my wallet with me, so I couldn't call a cab," she tacks on.

Because that makes her sound less insane.

Martha's hand is frozen above Kate's right eyebrow. "Why on earth…" she trails off as her eyes lock with Kate's. She must see some answer in them, because her expression softens, and she finishes cleansing the rest of Kate's features in silence.

Fantastic. Martha can see right through her. The walls are in little crumbly pieces.

Well, it's what she wanted, isn't it? No more hiding? She might as well get used to it.

After a few moments, Martha gets up, tosses the wipe, and gathers a towel and washcloth from under the sink. "Alright, dear, stand up for me so I can remove your jacket," she says, placing the linens on the counter.

Kate hesitates. "Really, Martha, I can just –"

"Go home and tend to your wounds in solitude?"

Damn, the woman's got her pegged. "I'm used to taking care of myself. Had to adapt when I joined the Force. I don't want you to go to any trouble."

Martha ignores her, reaching around her back and helping Kate stand. The former detective feels her muscles protest, and sucks in a pained breath. "Sorry."

Kate shakes her head slightly. "Just a little sore, don't worry about it."

"Honestly, detective, it's no trouble. Now, try and relax a little." Kate tries her best to obey, and feels gentle hands hook the collar of her jacket and slowly work it off her shoulders and down her arms. She can't stop the sigh of relief as she is finally relieved of the heavy, water-encrusted weight. "Does that feel a little better?" Martha asks knowingly.

"Yes. Thank you."

To her credit, Martha doesn't react outwardly as she examines the newly-exposed skin.

Kate doesn't have to look. She remembers every punch, every kick. The choking strength of his fingers around her windpipe. How he was able to fling her around like she weighed nothing while her own attacks barely put a stutter in his rhythm.

"Oh, honey." The older woman mutters. The former detective swallows roughly, fighting a sudden surge of tears. "Alright, shirt next. This might hurt a little bit."

Kate offers no more resistance. She hasn't any dignity left to preserve, so any act she might put on would be transparent and pitiful.

The older woman is able to remove the t-shirt with remarkable speed, the most discomfort coming when Kate has to lift her arms. Then, the filthy fabric is tossed away, leaving Kate in jeans and a bra.

"If it's alright with you, pants next." Martha's voice is soft and reassuring, and Kate finds it odd that, half-naked in front of her partner's mother, she feels safe. The former detective flicks open the button and pulls down the zipper, but has to pause for a moment.

"Um, these are kind of tight. I might need you to pull on the cuffs." Martha nods, so Kate scoots the waist down to her thighs and sits down on the tub. Martha works each leg until the jeans join her other clothes in the corner. "Thanks."

The older woman smiles comfortingly. "I'll let you clean up while I find some ice and heating pads. I'm sure Richard keeps some around the loft. Do you want anything to eat or drink?"

"No, thank you."

"I'll make you some tea." Kate smiles for the first time, and her cheeks ache slightly with the movement.

"Thank you."

"It's no problem, dear. There are extras of everything under the sink, and I'll lay out some sweats for you on the bed. Call if you need anything," Martha says, striding out of the bathroom.

Kate sighs, feeling the bit of good cheer leave with the older woman.

Now that she's alone, the memory of Castle's phone sitting on the kitchen counter flickers through her mind. She understands him not wanting to answer _her_ calls, but surely he wouldn't risk not being available if his mother or daughter needed him. If she knows one thing for sure, it's that Richard Castle loves his family more than anything else in the world.

No. There _must _be a way to contact him. Martha said that he was headed to the Hamptons. There's almost definitely a phone line hooked up there, so he's not off the grid completely.

And why wouldn't he want to get away? With him effectively ending their partnership – due to her stubbornness, of course – the day before Alexis graduates high school, he's absorbed quite the one-two punch over the last forty eight hours.

If she was in his position, she'd have packed up her things and moved to some remote cabin in –

… oh. Right.

A wave of guilt crashes over her, and she presses the heels of her palms into her eyes. The little voice of reason in the back of her head – which sounds like Dr. Burke now – tells her that she can't compare the two situations, despite their similarities.

She decides to anyway. What's one more pain to add to the giant ball of misery building inside her?

Kate just wishes he'd chosen to go somewhere besides the Hamptons. Really, _anywhere_ else. To her, a Hamptons vacation includes a complimentary blonde.

He is _not_ in bed with some bimbo right now, trying to forget about her. He's probably… writing?

_Yeah. Because his muse has inspired him _so much_ in the past few days. _

Scoffing at her own ridiculous delusions, she slips off her panties and unhooks her bra, pursing her lips against the aches in her shoulders and back.

The shower warms up almost instantaneously, which Kate is glad for. The water feels undeniably good, and the steam loosens the knots in her muscles. Washing her hair and body takes a little longer than usual, and she's a little disturbed by the splotches of yellow, purple and red painted across her skin, but getting clean is worth the sting of soap on scrapes and the pound of water on bruises. When she steps out, some stiffness has disappeared, and the crust of rainwater in her hair and dried blood on her arms and legs has been scrubbed away, leaving her feeling still sore, but much fresher.

True to her word, Martha has laid out a pair of sweats – designer, of course – for Kate to wear, and the former detective exhales as the soft fabric caresses her abused flesh. After she dresses, Kate makes her way to the stairs, where she can hear Martha puttering around. A squeaky step alerts the older woman to her presence. "Oh, there you are!" she exclaims. "I have your tea ready. I hope chamomile is alright with you."

Kate pastes a smile on. "Sounds good. Thank you." She finishes her trek to the kitchen and takes the offered cup, sitting gingerly on one of the bar stools.

"I wasn't able to find any cold or hot packs in Richard's office or bathroom, so I'm just going to head across the hall for a moment to check and see if Mr. Freeman has any. That old man is reckless enough to need a constant supply." Martha grouses as she slips on a shawl. "Be back in a jiff!"

She exits the loft with a flourish, and Kate is left in silence, steam from the tea filling her nostrils.

Just as she's about to take her first sip, pondering on how to ask Martha for the phone number to Castle's Hamptons house, an unfamiliar ring fills the loft. Kate turns to see a wall phone by the refrigerator, blinking and warbling.

Huh. Kate's never noticed that the loft has a landline.

She considers leaving it to ring, letting the machine pick it up, but a strange mix of morbid curiosity and an absurd hope that maybe _he's _calling drives her to scoot off the stool and walk over to answer it.

If it's not Castle, fine. Nobody else would recognize her voice, right?

Pressing the answer button, Kate raises the receiver to her ear and offers a tentative, "Hello?"

"_K-Kate?_"

Oh.

_Oh._


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: And now we're caught up with the posts on tumblr. From now on, it'll probably be an update every 2-3 days or so. I'm planning another 2-3 chapters before the end.**

**To address lv2bnsb1, who had a valid point about Kate's injuries: Yeah, the show left her pretty much unscathed. I did need a foil for the Kate-Martha interaction, however. Worsening her injuries seemed like the most valid option. Plus, now Castle can be a live-in nurse for her once he pulls his head out of the sand. **

**Now, on to the chapter!**

Castle's mind is a cacophony of noise, countless thoughts shouting over each other to be heard.

_What is she doing at my loft?_

_Where is my mother? Did something happen?_

_Why do I feel so sick all of a sudden?_

_Is Alexis okay?_

_What's happened in the last twenty-four hours?_

They swirl around his head, crashing together until they become an indecipherable mass of words and feelings. Fortunately – or unfortunately – _she _is apparently able to get a handle on her own responses faster than him. "_Castle? Is – I mean, uh…_"

Or maybe not. She sounds just as dumbfounded as he feels. "Yeah. It's… yeah."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Castle wonders where all the resentment and anger from the last couple of days has gone. Are a few stuttered words from the person responsible really enough to wash it all away?

"_Where are –_"

"What are –"

Castle clears his throat, closing his mouth to allow her to speak first – bad habits die hard, he supposes – but to his surprise, she doesn't take the reins.

He inhales through her nose, deciding to chance it. "What, uh. What are you doing at my loft?"

His voice is about two steps away from a sickly croak. It'd be embarrassing if he could feel something other than shock.

"_I came to talk to you. I thought that you would… be here._"

She sounds almost timid, but he dismisses the notion quickly. The Kate Beckett he left was as far from timid as he's ever seen her.

"Oh."

"_Yeah. Where are… did you go to the Hamptons?_"

"What?"

"_You're mom said –" _

Oh. Of course. He told his mother he was headed to the house out there. Why would she relay that to Kate? For some reason, this thought opens the floodgates that are holding back his negative emotions.

So _she_ wants to talk to _him _now, huh? He finally acceded to her wishes and let her chase after assassins to her heart's content, only demanding that he _not be a part of it_, and she can't even return the favor. Where does she get off seeking him out like this?

God she just has to have her way _all_ the time, doesn't she?

Gritting his teeth, he swallows down some less than gentlemanly words. "I don't see how that information is really any of your business, Beckett," he seethes, practically spitting her surname at her for good measure.

He hears her gasp, and can't quite suppress the shame that coils around his insides.

He scoffs at his own reaction. She should be thankful he's not using his extensive vocabulary to shred her heart into very precise pieces. He thinks it would be complimentary to the blunt words she used to crush him.

"Where's my mother?" he asks, voice as steely and unforgiving as he can make it. The sooner this conversation is over, the better.

"_She said she'd be back in a minute or two. You just missed her._" Her voice is tremulous, and it drills right through his shield. He fights to maintain an indifferent tone.

"Alright. When you see her again, just tell her I called to check in –"

"_Wait, Castle. Just… just hang on a second_."

"I think I've done enough waiting, don't you?" It's vicious and cruel and it slips out without his permission, but he won't apologize. He _won't._

There's a moment's pause before she responds. "_I'm sorry, Castle,"_ she whispers, so low that he almost misses it.

Kate sounds small, defeated. Like there's no more fight left in her.

An uncomfortable silence falls over the line. Castle rubs his eyes, wondering if he shouldn't just hang up now. He tries to think of something to say that wouldn't further destroy them both.

Her breath trembles in his ear and his gut clenches at the thought that she might be crying. He hates that his first instinct is still to comfort her.

"Look, Beckett, I really –"

"_I finally confronted him, Castle. The man who shot me._"

His hand shoots out to grab the bedside table, anchoring him so he doesn't fall over forward on to the floor.

Oh, God. He didn't think she'd actually –

But he should have. This is Detective Kate Beckett, pride of the Twelfth Precinct and the NYPD. She does her job with or without a partner, and she does it well.

What did he expect? That she'd back off just because he left?

But good Lord, she really did it. And she's still here, alive.

She's probably waiting for him to respond, but his mind has been wiped clean of responses, and his mouth is suddenly as dry as a desert.

"_His name is Cole Maddox,_" she continues when he remains silent._ "We didn't have much to go on, but we managed to track him to a hotel. Esposito and I were clearing the room he rented, and he ambushed us. Knocked Espo out, knocked me down. I chased him to the roof, and –"_ her voice hitches, and the table creaks under Castle's grip. "_– he outmatched me, Castle. My training was nothing compared to his. Used me as a punching bag and then tossed me over the side of the building._" She giggles hysterically at this, and Castle hisses a distressed breath through clenched teeth.

All the righteous fury that's built up inside of him dwindles to nothing. All of the indignation and the hurt that he's clung to slips from his grasp, like water sluicing between his fingers. His mind takes every mean, unkind thought that he's had about her and applies it to the information she's just related to him.

While he was pouting about his feelings, she was fighting for her life.

While he was wallowing in self-pity, she was facing her demons alone.

Over the blood rushing in his ears and the nausea roiling in his stomach, he hears the awful sound of hiccupping sobs.

"Kate –" he groans, but she talks over him.

"_I was hanging on by my fingertips, and he left me there to fall, and _God,_ all I could think about was how much I wished you were there to pull me up –" _her words are slurring together, as if she's rushing to get it out before she breaks completely. Castle doesn't know how much more of this he can take. "– _and I swear to God I heard your voice, and I was calling for you and calling for you_ –" She takes a shuddering breath and heaves a sob, and suddenly Castle has had enough of the separation. There are too many miles between him and the woman he loves, and he intends to remedy that immediately.

"Kate, listen to me, okay? Stay there. Stay in my loft. I'm coming. I'll be there as soon as I can, okay?" His eyes search for the keycard he tossed earlier.

"_Please come back, Rick. I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry._" She cries.

"I forgive you." He does. He's never been surer of anything else.

"_Please, please, please! I just want you, I swear! Please don't leave me alone._" She's wailing, and Castle thinks it's the worst sound he's ever heard in his life.

"I'm coming right now. I'm coming." He assures, and nearly yanks the receiver's cord out of the phone dock before remembering he has to hang up first. "I'm going to hang up now, but I promise I'll be there as fast as I can. Stay right there." Castle slams the phone down, grabs the keycard off the bedspread, and stumbles out the door.

He sprints down the corridor, ignoring the odd looks he gets from guests he rushes past them, and throws open the door to the stairs.

Castle's shoes echo loudly in the small space as he races down the steps, almost tripping over his own feet. He bursts through the door, running through the lobby and tossing the card over his shoulder, hoping that it lands on the helpdesk. The automatic doors barely open enough for him to slide through.

In seconds, he's at his car, yanking the door open, flopping into the seat, and jamming the keys into the ignition.

Once again, he is purpose-driven. Katherine Beckett needs him.

Wants him.

Chooses him.

He will sit idly by no longer.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: As promised, chapter six. Thank you all for the reviews! Hope you enjoy it.**

After the initial shock of hearing Castle on the other end of the line, Kate had concocted a quick, simple plan: find out where Castle is, go there, and explain absolutely everything.

Of course, the success of that plan had hinged on the man himself actually giving her a location.

Apparently, she was no longer worthy of that information.

Having been stripped of her dignity and pride already, Kate had made the split-second decision to just lay it all out for him immediately. Screw waiting for a face-to-face conversation. In the moment, it had seemed like the only way to keep him from hanging up on her.

Like all of her other recent plans, it had backfired in the worst way, leaving her a sniveling mess on his kitchen floor, wiping the snot away with a paper towel and listening to a robotic voice telling her to "_please hang up and try again_".

As if she has any more chances.

She hadn't even heard what he'd said after she started sobbing and pleading with him. Probably something she's better off not knowing, considering his icy attitude towards her at the beginning of the conversation.

By the time she'd regained some control of herself, Castle had already hung up. It was the final blow.

When Kate hears the door open and Martha's cheerful voice break the silence, she doesn't even bother trying to hide the evidence of her breakdown. Just thumps her head on the cabinet she's leaning against and revels in the pain.

A small gasp tells her that the older woman has finally discovered her.

"Well," Martha starts. "I have the icepacks."

For some reason, that coaxes a choked laugh out of Kate. She turns her head to look at Castle's mother, who is standing at the edge of the tile with a plastic bag. Martha sighs, placing it on the counter, and makes her way over to the broken woman. Her knees crack as she slides down next to Kate, who scoots over slightly. "I think," Martha says, "that I have never come across someone who needs a hug more."

The former detective sinks into the other woman's arms immediately, squeezing her eyes shut to hold back the fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over.

She feels her muscles relax as experienced hands tenderly rub her back and shoulders, and she can't stop herself from nuzzling closer. The hiccups that follow a hard cry wrack her body at odd intervals, but both women remain silent, simply allowing the silence to envelope them.

After a little while, the older woman finally speaks. "So, would you like to tell me why I've found you curled on the floor for the second time today, or shall I start guessing?"

Kate snorts a snotty laugh and sits up, pulling out of the embrace and wiping at her cheeks.

"Castle called a few minutes ago."

Martha's eyebrows shoot up. "Oh?"

"He wanted me to tell you that he was alive and well, and not to worry about him."

"Oh, good," Martha says, before glancing over at her. "That made you sad?"

Kate shakes her head. "I… I blurted out what I came to tell him last night. I guess it kind of overwhelmed me."

"Ah. I suppose it was pretty bad, then?"

"Yeah."

They sit in silence for a few moments. Kate feels the hesitant curiosity radiating off of the other woman. "If you still want to know, I think I'm prepared to share."

Martha hums. "Well, it might not mean much to me. I'm only a third party observer. Some background might help give us both the perspective we need."

Devious woman. Kate admires Martha's skill at coaxing information out of people.

And, she did tell Castle first. That was what she promised herself, right? Martha has certainly earned some information after her care earlier.

"Where do you want me to start?"

Martha smiles reassuringly. "The beginning usually works for me."

So Kate does. She tells the story of how her mother was murdered. How her father fell into alcoholism. Her own drive to join the NYPD and solve her mother's case. She details the role that Castle has played, both in her mother's case and in Kate's everyday life. She reveals the secrets that both of them had kept from each other. The secrets that tore them apart. Lastly, she recounts the events of the last forty-eight hours, right up until Martha found her on the doorstep of the loft that morning.

The entire time, Martha says nothing, simply taking Kate's hand and listening to what she has to say.

When the former detective is finished, her voice is hoarse and storm in her soul has calmed. She takes a deep breath, head lolling back and resting on the cabinet.

The older woman clears her throat. "You've lived a remarkable life, dear. I certainly see why my son has written a series of books based on you."

A bittersweet smile crosses Kate's face. "There was a time when I resented him for the intrusion."

"You're a private person by nature, and my son has a tendency to go overboard. I certainly don't blame you for disliking the attention."

Kate thinks she'd do just about anything to regain Castle's admiration now. It's just her luck that she'd realize how much he means to her _after_ she's driven him away.

"So, no longer a detective, eh?"

"Mmhmm. I'm out of a job."

"What made you resign?"

Kate presses her lips together. "I just… I finally realized what was most important to me."

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the older woman smile. "Was it about six feet, two inches? Dark hair, blue eyes, endearingly annoying?"

"God, so annoying," Kate moans, grinning and blushing. The smile fades quickly, however. "But I guess it doesn't matter now."

"Oh, I wouldn't nail that coffin shut yet. I've borne witness to the lengths Richard will go to protect you. He may be hurt at the moment, but don't underestimate how much you mean to him. He'll come around eventually."

Kate quirks a corner of her lip up, eyes dancing from point to point, and remains silent, neither confirming nor denying Martha's opinion. The older woman continues, unbidden.

"Did you tell him what you told me when he called?"

Kate snorts. "I tried to. I devolved into a whimpering mess pretty quickly, though, so I'm not sure if I got the message across."

"What did he say?"

"I don't know. I think he hung up around the time I started shamelessly begging for his forgiveness." Her voice falters, and she lowers her head.

"He just hung up? That doesn't sound like him." Martha sounds doubtful. Kate curses internally for bad-mouthing the man in front of his own mother. "Are you sure?"

The former detective shrugs, wanting to forget her mortifying performance and the utter indifference in Castle's voice.

She feels Martha place a hand over her own. "Would you like my advice?"

"At this point, it can't hurt."

"Be patient. Do for him what he's done for you, and give him time. He _will_ come around. I guarantee it."

Kate wants to tell Martha that none of it matters anymore. That even if Castle did come around, even if he did give her another chance, she'd just end up driving him away eventually. She's coming to realize that no matter how much she loves him, she just isn't good for him.

But Kate doesn't say this. Martha's been so kind to her, in spite of everything. She doesn't deserve to be burdened with Kate's doubts.

"Yeah, maybe," she concedes, and feels the older woman pat her hand.

"As long as you keep up hope, dear." Martha shifts, and groans. "Goodness, these bones are too old to sit on the floor for…" she trails off, looking at the clock, and her eyes widen. "Two hours."

Immediately, Kate hops up, feeling the numbness in her extremities for the first time. "Oh, Martha, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean –"

The older woman waves her off. "Oh, it's fine, dear. Are you feeling better?"

"Well, yes, but –"

"Then the discomfort is more than worth it."

Kate's heart warms, a smile spreading across her face, and pulls Martha in for an embrace. "Thank you, Martha."

The matriarch squeezes. "You're welcome."

And that's that.

They pull back, Kate stretches out a cramp while Martha turns to place the now warm ice packs in the freezer. "These might take a few minutes to freeze again. Would you like to lie down?"

There's a stern determination in Martha's eyes, so Kate swallows her automatic response, and simply nods.

"Go ahead, then. I'll make you something to eat."

Kate smiles her thanks, and moves stiffly towards the couch.

About halfway there, she hears a key in the lock, and a second later, the door bursts open.

There, haggard looking and out of breath, stands Rick Castle.

Her mouth drops open and her stomach clenches in shock.

"Richard? What in the world?" Martha exclaims from somewhere in the kitchen. He glances around, looking for something, ignoring his mother.

When his eyes find hers, something deep within her responds to the wild look she sees.

"Castle," she whispers breathlessly. This seems to snap him out of whatever trance he's in. He stalks forward, instantly closing the space between them. His hands find her waist, and he pulls her to him. Their noses rub together, and Kate's focus narrows to the feel of his body against hers.

"Rick, what –"

The rest of her sentence is cut off by Castle's lips on hers, firm and demanding.

Her eyes slam shut and her knees weaken at the sheer force of the kiss, but Castle tightens his grip to compensate. Vacantly, she thinks that the firm hold should hurt, but all she feels is him.

All too soon, in her opinion, he pulls back, breathing heavily. She tries to gather her wits, but finds the task very difficult when her lips are still tingling from the kiss.

Opening her eyes, she looks up at her partner. There, in his eyes, she sees everything.

"Kate," he whispers. "I love you."

The love shining in his gaze is the last thing she sees before her vision fades to black and she falls to the floor, unconscious.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: Final chapter you guys. I never expected such an overwhelming response to my first crack at fanfiction. Another story is in the works, so be on the lookout!**

**Enjoy the chapter.**

Castle's head whips around when he hears a soft groan from the woman laying prone on his bed. The mattress bounces slightly as he hops up, moving quickly to kneel beside Kate's head. Her eyes flutter as he runs a gentle hand through her hair, pushing a few locks behind her ear. Her hazel eyes dance around the room for a few moments before meeting his. There's an uncertainty in them, like she can't quite believe what she's seeing, that makes his heart ache.

He grabs her hand, not breaking eye contact, and squeezes it reassuringly. "Hey there, sleepyhead," he murmurs, quirking his lips up into a gentle smile.

Her features slacken in relief when he speaks, a beautiful smile spreading across her face. With her free hand, she reaches forward and runs her fingertips across his cheeks and nose. "Hi," she whispers, swiping her thumb across his bottom lip. Castle fails to repress a shudder. "It wasn't a dream?"

She dreams about kissing him? God, what had he been doing hiding out in a hotel when he could've been here all along?

It doesn't matter now. He's here and she's here and they're finally, _finally_ on the same page.

Or so he hopes.

He kisses the pads of her fingers and feels them tremble slightly. "How are you feeling? You took quite a fall back there."

"I think it was just overwhelming," she says, withdrawing her hand – he feels the loss acutely – and sitting up, fluffing out her bedhead in a way he finds irresistibly sexy.

"Well, I knew I was a good kisser, but wow. Never knocked a woman out before," he baits, watching carefully for her reaction. She rolls her eyes.

_Success_.

"Oh, great. Now I'm never going to be able to check your ego," she murmurs, lips parting in a grin.

"As long as you keep trying."

It bursts out of him without his permission, and for a terrifying moment, he thinks he's gone too far, crossed one of her carefully drawn lines he's so used to skirting. A reflexive apology is on the tip of his tongue –

And then her tongue is on the tip of his tongue, his lips mashed against hers. He's so startled that he falls backwards. Kate's hooked an arm around his neck, so she's dragged off with him, and they both end up in a heap of tangled limbs on his bedroom floor, snorting and giggling into each other's mouths.

The laughter fades, but instead of untangling, Kate remains on top of him. She digs her chin gently into his sternum, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

It takes his breath away. "So, what you said. I guess – was that – you… did you –"

Of course, _now_ he stumbles over his words. Some author he is. Where's the extensive vocabulary he's touted when he needs it?

Thankfully, she takes pity on him. "I meant every word, Castle," she says, scooting up his torso until she's face-to-face with him. "I just wish I'd been able to tell you in person, instead of blubbering like an idiot over the phone –"

"No, no. Don't blame yourself. It was my fault. I shouldn't have left at all," he says, wrapping her in his arms and squeezing her tightly. She hisses. "What? What's wrong?" he asks, immediately loosening his grip.

He can tell she's trying to keep her features neutral, but it's too late. He's already worried.

"Nothing too serious. Just a few cuts and bruises from the encounter with Maddox."

Bruises? Oh God, oh damn. She's injured. Of course, she'd told him as much over the phone, but it hadn't fully registered until now. Stupid, _stupid._ "Do you need to – let's go to the hospital," he says frantically, rolling to stand up and tugging her with him. "I know an ER doctor who'll be able to admit you imm…" her laughter quiets him. "What?"

"Relax, Castle. I don't need to see a doctor. Your mom took good care of me."

"My mom?"

Kate let someone else take care of her? He's missed more than he thought.

"She took me in when she found me asleep on your doorstep. Cleaned me up."

"You were _where_?"

At this, pink blooms on the apples of Kate's cheeks. "I-I came to apologize to you last night. To explain everything. But you weren't –"

He rushes forward, cradling her face in his palms. "Oh God, Kate, I'm so sorry. I overreacted. I should've been here, been by your side –"

Once again, he's cut off by a gentle kiss. "Shh, Castle, it's okay. _I'm_ sorry," she says, rubbing her thumbs across his knuckles. "I should've listened to you in the first place. And I'm glad you weren't there. I'm glad you were away from the danger."

"But I'm your partner, Kate. I promised you I'd always –"

"I love you."

The words silence him; erase every counterargument developing in his mind. Kate pulls him closer, caressing his neck and peppering kisses across his cheeks and jaw. "You… you love me?" Castle squeaks, heart thumping loudly in his chest.

She pulls back, nodding, and looks him right in the eyes. "So much."

"Oh, Kate," he whispers, awestruck. The minimal space between them suddenly feels like a chasm, and he can't stand it anymore. "Come here."

She does, willingly, and that just seals the deal. Gently, he wraps her up, bringing his lips down to hers – the difference in height is such a turn on – and kisses her with abandon, because he can _do that now_.

He pulls back, only for a moment, reverently whispering the words he now knows she wants to hear across her lips, into her mouth, and she _moans_, yanking him back down and shoving her hand up his untucked shirt. Her cool, slender fingers dance up his abdomen and around his back, nails scratching teasing lines of arousal that shoot straight to his groin.

"Has she woken up yet, dear?"

Of course, his mother would choose _now_ to check in. He pulls back reluctantly, turning his head to the voice calling through his bedroom door. Kate is seemingly oblivious, continuing to nip at his neck, making it _really_ hard to focus.

"She's fine, mother," he says weakly, feeling Kate tuck her thumb into the waist of his jeans. "Just – ah – just coming to."

He feels Kate smile against his collarbone.

_Wonderful, evil woman_.

"Oh, good," his mother says, voice lilting in amusement. "I'm heading to the market. Call me if she needs anything more."

Subtle, Martha Rodgers is not.

"Will do, moth – _ee_!" The hand teasing his waist has made its way further south. He hears the rapid click of heels moving away from his bedroom. Somewhere under the haze of lust, he remembers that she was beaten up the day before, and that sex, no matter how much either of them might want it, probably isn't the best idea at the moment. "Are we doing this now, Kate? You're hurt, and I don't want to –"

"Shut up and make me yours, Castle."

The command injects fire into his blood. "But –"

"I'm going to start by myself if you don't hurry up." She whispers the words directly into his ear.

Screw chivalry. He needs her _now._

"Yes ma'am," he growls, gently tackling her onto the bed. She laughs, freely and loudly.

As they come together, fantastically, beautifully, one phrase repeats over and over in his mind:

_It's never too late. _

_It's never too late. _


End file.
